The Fear of Wings
by Artemia Fae
Summary: Ella Enchanted/Waitress-inspired AU. All his life Castiel has wanted to be obedient. Now, he cannot control his body when given an order. Nothing good can come of this curse, Sam is his only silver lining. But what good is a silver lining if you can't see the clouds? Warnings:Contains Mpreg, Dark!Dean, mentions of suicide/ideation/attempts, Depression, and Sastiel/Destiel.
1. Dawn Breaks

The Fear of Wings

_**A/N: **_**This is loosely inspired by the movie Waitress and the book, Ella Enchanted. It's a little dark and not how I view their relationship at all. I love Destiel but I figured, what if Dean wasn't always good? I'm a bit new to the fandom but I love it. The show is really entertaining and the characters are great. **

**I also feel like apologizing in advance, it's been a while since I wrote a one shot, I may be a bit rusty. **

**Warnings: Contains mpreg, mentions of suicide/ideation/attempts, depression and Dark!Dean. Enjoy. **

* * *

The sky above the cottage is the color of innocence, bright and blue. The sunlight creeping through the windows is a bit _too_ warm as it caresses Castiel's bare skin. It almost _burns _but he makes no attempt to move out of its path in fear of waking the sleeping man beside him.

Instead, he studies the blank ceiling above him, as if it holds the answers he so desperately craves. Sometimes he prays, though he knows no one is listening, to help distract him from the nothingness.

Sometimes, if he turns his head just right, he gets a glimpse of the outside world from the window, and imagines briefly that he is far, far away. And sometimes he feels peace, though it's only a sliver.

It never lasts long though; he gets pulled back to reality when he feels the baby kick or hears Dean sigh in his sleep. Then he remembers where he is, that he no longer has the liberty to run or hide, that he belongs to Dean now and just like that he is swallowed in emptiness again.

Not long ago, he was a free man. He wasn't yet eighteen and was free to fall in love with anyone he wanted, to _choose_. But he never wanted anyone but Dean. With his strong arms, brilliant sense of humor and searing green eyes, Dean was the perfect catch. Where Castiel's family treated him like he were some sort of burden, Dean was all open arms and weighted words of adoration.

And Dean promised to protect him, to provide for him and to never hurt him. Castiel fell in love with the lie that was Dean Winchester.

Now he knows that he has to live with the decision he's made. It's easier said than done. Everyday is a fight to gain back his control. Even if there was no curse, he knows he can't just run away. Dean will find him. Or someone will return him to Dean once they see the markings of Dean's claim or the bump of his stomach, swollen with Dean's child.

Castiel knows he's trapped. He isn't allowed to see his family ever again and though he has little desire to, he sometimes finds himself mourning the past.

Someone grunts beside him, snapping Castiel out of his thoughts immediately. When he turns his head, he sees a pair of bright green eyes staring at him.

"Good morning." Dean mumbles.

Castiel smiles in response, it's feeble, nothing like the toothy, huge grins he used to make when he was free. It seems to suffice because suddenly Dean's face breaks out in absolute joy. He reaches a hand and gently rubs Castiel's stomach.

"How's little Emeline?" He asks and Castiel feels a wave of nausea rise within him. Dean's touch used to bring him comfort and happiness, now it just makes him sick.

"She's very active."

Dean's smile grows impossibly wider. "You feel her kicking?"

"Not at the moment, but I felt some faint stirrings a little earlier." Castiel feels the tears begin to prickle at his eyes. The thought of Emeline, fighting her way to be a part of this world while Castiel was fighting to get out, saddened him. Once, he imagined bearing a child as long as he was ready to protect it and his partner was prepared to do the same, even if she or he was going to be birthed with the curse, he knew he'd love them no matter what.

He loved Emeline, even though she would be part Dean, she was all Castiel ever wanted. A beautiful, healthy baby to cherish.

He just wished he had her in different circumstances.

Dean misinterprets Castiel's tears for that of joy and begins to kiss them as they trail down his cheeks. His hand is still on Castiel's stomach, rubbing it gently. It's meant to make him feel safe and wanted but instead leaves him feeling quite the opposite. Dean's hands are large and his skin is too hot. Castiel is suffocating and he wants to scream. "Please Dean." He begs, though he's not sure what for.

The man above ignores him. "Look at me." Dean orders and Castiel feels it, the fight in him bubbling to the surface. He stiffens and struggles to keep his eyes on the ceiling above. If he can just hold off a little longer maybe the curse will break itself.

Of course, it doesn't and he soon finds himself peering into those scary green eyes again. Dean caresses his face where the tears are still pouring. "Tell me you love me, Cas."

He wants to disobey, his mind screams at him to deny it, he pleads with his eyes, and wants Dean to see that it is killing him to do this but Dean just stares at him expectantly. He feels the pain shoot up his back, a common occurrence when he fights for too long, and his mouth opens on its own accord. "I love you, Dean." It's hollow and empty like his soul.

The hunter still doesn't seem satisfied. "Like you _mean_ it."

The hatred that courses through his blood flares at that, but he is too tired, too weak, too broken to fight it. Instead of telling Dean just how much he hates him, the words "I love you, so much" followed with a deep kiss, fall from his mouth.

Dean doesn't ask for much more after that and soon falls back to sleep, to Castiel's gratitude. Silently, in the vivid light of the betraying sun, with a sleeping Dean beside him, he weeps.

* * *

The girls in Castiel's town and some of the men would probably seethe with jealousy if they saw his life in the cookie cutter way it looked from the outside.

He had a husband who wouldn't abandon him or his child, he was pregnant with a healthy baby, he never had a reason to starve or go cold and they lived in a beautiful house in the safest recesses of the woods.

It was all anyone could ever dream of.

While Dean was out during the day getting firewood or chasing monsters or whatever it was he said he did when he left, Castiel as the good _wife _as Dean called him, would be left to clean the log cabin, cook the meals and keep everything perfect for his adoring husband. To anyone on the outside, they seemed to be a perfect couple.

No one could see that Castiel wasn't allowed to have friends, to leave the cottage or use the phone. No one could see the burns on Castiel's arms, the evidence of his attempts to kill the monster inside him that had too much power. No one could see that everyday when he gets half an hour where the curse is at its weakest, he sprawls himself on the floor and succumbs to the pain, the sadness that is his life.

To everyone else, he is the perfect mate.

There was only one person who cared about him still. One person who saw what no one else would see: Dean's brother, Sam Winchester. He wasn't happy to hear that Castiel was pregnant. He helped Castiel fight Dean; fight for his freedom and it worked for a while. He made Castiel feel important, like he didn't deserve to feel less than because of the curse.

But then Dean ordered him to stop seeing Sam. and Castiel reluctantly obeyed. Dean was far too gone in his lunacy to be above killing Sam if it meant he was losing Castiel and their child, so Castiel begged him, lied and told him that Sam meant nothing just to calm Dean down.

And Dean told him he didn't need anyone else because no one could love him as much as Dean did.

Then there was Benny, Dean's friend. He found Castiel in the beginning, during the initial throes of his and Dean's union attempting to jump off the roof of the cottage they shared. He stopped Castiel, saving his life, and then proceeded to inform Dean.

Castiel begged his livid husband to either kill him or get him professional help. He didn't want to live anymore. But Dean was adamant. He locked Castiel up in their room and forced him to eat and sleep, ignoring Castiel's pleas.

"Don't try to kill yourself anymore." Dean ordered while Benny looked down at Castiel with pity. He fought like hell against that command too because Dean was taking away the only thing left in Castiel's life that he was passionate about. As long as Castiel had a way to die, he had a reason to live. But it was gone as soon as the curse kicked in.

* * *

They say there is a loophole in everything if you look hard enough. Castiel takes advantage of these loopholes every chance he gets.

His burns are just proof of purposeful accidents he gets himself into while cooking. He speaks to the animals that stop by the cottage though they don't understand him. He tells them that he will one day be free again, for himself, for Emeline. He still holds onto the amulet that Sam gave him and imagines that wherever Sam is, he's thinking of him, of saving him.

Sometimes it's enough for him to forget. On better days, sometimes he even feels hope.

* * *

_**A/N: **_**Hope you enjoyed. It's not the best fic, but the idea wouldn't leave me alone. Thank you all for reading!**


	2. Out Of Reach

Castiel pulls himself back together after Dean leaves, he hops in the shower and plasters on a smile before proceeding to prim and tidy their little home. It's Dean's orders. _Make sure the place is clean and there's food on the table by the time I'm back, babe. And you know the rules, don't leave the house or talk to anybody. Got it?_

This is common for him now, for the beast beneath his skin to rear its ugly head. It doesn't want to be silenced, even though currently there is no need for it to awaken. Dean is not around; it should be just him and his free will.

_This is how it's going to be forever…_ A voice says from the darkest recesses of his mind. Suddenly the silence is deafening. He needs to take a walk, clear his head. Being cooped up in the house isn't helping.

He gets up from the recliner and waddles to the front door. He doesn't pause to put on something warmer—there's no time for that. He needs fresh air and he needs it _now_.

Something stops him before he can get to the door knob. It's like an electric shock, sparking and pulsing, it freezes him where he stands. But he _needs_air. He must get out.

There is no give. He pushes and fights but his body remains frozen in place. It's not the first time something like this has happened but it's the first he isn't able to fight back, isn't strong enough.

He waits a beat more and when his body relaxes he stumbles forward and as he's about to catch the doorknob it hits him, the nausea but he presses on. Twisting the handle, he almost gets the door open despite the fact that his vision is starting to spin and he's not sure, if it's working or if he's imagining it.

The door does not open on the first twist but that could be a result of Castiel's palms being too sweaty to get a firm grip. He tries again but a stronger wave of nausea crashes over him. _Open the door Castiel_, he orders himself. Suddenly there is relief, the nausea is lessening, and he's feeling better. He's going to do it, his vision is still spinning but he could care less because it's working! Suddenly every step is lighter, more certain, but he feels something soft and then he realizes he's no longer standing.

When Castiel's vision stills, he sees the same old furniture and decorations of the cottage not the bushy overgrowth of the forest. It occurs to him then that he is back to where he started, as if it didn't make sense for him to move in the first place.

Feeling defeated, Castiel sinks back in the chair. Next time he will try harder, he has to.

* * *

Dean arrives home at his usual six o'clock. Castiel is sitting at the table surrounded by pot roast, a bowl of carrots and mashed potatoes while an apple pie cools in the kitchen.

Everything looks so normal, Castiel knows Dean won't even suspect that he tried to leave.

"Hey Cas." The hunter smiles, leaning in to give him a kiss. Castiel obliges despite the sickening twist of his stomach and the urge to recoil bursting through him.

Their lips touch and it isn't too bad until Dean curves a hand behind his head and presses them closer. It's not much of a far cry for Castiel to assume he wants more when a gentle but obstinate tongue teases his lips, silently begging for entrance. And then Dean is takingtakingtaking and Castiel doesn't want this, has never wanted it.

When Dean pulls away, he looks happy but his gaze is hooded as if he enjoyed it more than he should. Castiel knows what this means and tries to swallow down the dread he feels bubbling to the surface while trying to keep his face as normal as possible.

He begins to share out the food, the routine that's now ingrained in him after years. Even now, his muscles still sing and his brain relaxes because he's not protesting, just following the command he's been given every day for the latter years of his life.

Dean takes a hearty bite of his meal when it's all dished out and comments on how good it tastes. Castiel smiles in thanks and takes a hearty bite of his own too. Everything feels too normal, too perfect and he hates it. It feels like he's stuck in a fifties sitcom, where everyone is happy and does what they are supposed to do and no one complains.

He feels suddenly exhausted but also wired, as if he were some sort of robot burning off fuel but somehow still able to function normally. Everything is disconnected and he knows why.

This is Dean's house with Dean's furniture in a town that Dean picked in a life Dean wanted. They do what Dean chooses and go where he wants. None of it even hints Castiel, he is just the unfortunate participant on Dean's joy ride.

As Castiel eats, the hunter discusses his day as vaguely as possible, voluntarily leaving out bits of information that Castiel is curious to know. Where does he work? Does he have any friends? Is it satisfying? Castiel knows his place though, he doesn't ask. If he presses too much, then Dean could get angry. It would be a subtle change, nothing too overt. He'd make a joke but his eyes would flash dangerously and then he'd give Castiel another command, probably robbing his ability to speak or ask questions, limiting the words he gets to say when there wasn't much in the first place.

So Castiel nods his head and inflects so much interest and curiosity in his voice when it's his turn to speak that he's surprised at his own ability. They keep the conversation about Dean because Castiel can't bring himself to talk about his day without wanting to beg Dean for a change, to tell Dean he isn't happy and he's sick of pretending but he knows that would be out of line. Dean wouldn't listen to him, would think he was being ungrateful and then start a fight.

He's never hit Castiel, and Castiel can grant him that much. But he has robbed Castiel of his ability to think once. When he felt like Castiel had betrayed him by threatening to leave. _Get that thought out of your head Cas. Don't leave and don't think about leaving. Stay with me. _Castiel felt things shifting and rearranging themselves in his brain and then he couldn't imagine leaving. It was like he couldn't make himself want to either.

But it was too much, days went by and Castiel had become mechanical. He wouldn't even open the windows anymore because the very thought of _outside_terrified him. Many times Dean would come home and find Castiel in a state of catatonia, walking around like a lifeless zombie. Wanting something but not knowing what. So he changed the command. _I'm sorry Cas, alright. You can desire going outside again but only if you intend to come back. Nothing more, nothing less._

And then all at once, Castiel could remember everything, sunsets and rainbows, dew drenched grass, the very best parts of his childhood playing hide and seek, climbing tall trees and a piece of the puzzle that made him, him, righted itself.

Dean had held him, telling him he just wanted to protect him, that everything he did he did it for Cas. _No one will ever love you like I do Cas. Not your family, not my stupid brother, no one. I keep you safe._

And for all things considered, Castiel knew he was telling the truth. Because Dean did love him, in his own sick, twisted way. Love came in all shapes and forms and was unique to every person. No one could ever love him like Dean could because Dean was the only person who thought like he did, who could justify his bizarre actions towards Castiel.

For Castiel, that was a glimmer of hope in the vast emptiness that consumed his life. He knew he was pathetic but in a way, it felt nice knowing somebody loved him, that somebody cared so much for him that they'd resort to all these measures to be with him. And he had to believe that Dean wasn't just plain evil, that Dean was doing this because he wanted both of them to be happy and he wanted to be with Castiel.

It was sad but this is what Castiel had always wanted. Someone who loved him to the point of ruin, tearing their own sanity to shreds in the process and not caring. It made him feel special; no one ever cared about him like that before. At least now, he was getting attention and adoration.

So he let himself be held by Dean and tried to believe, tried to even imagine loving Dean back just as much. He couldn't, the hatred and rationality remained like a weight in his stomach, but he could pretend.

Now, Castiel is a little wiser. He never wants Emeline to be in a relationship like this. Would be damned if he ever let her near someone like Dean. Dean has tainted his soul, robbed him of his innocence. The only person who could ever want and love him would be Dean so he has no choice but to stay. But Emeline will make it into this world as pure as they come and he intends for her to leave it that way.

* * *

After dinner, as they are about to prepare for bed. Dean pulls Castiel aside and kisses him again. Castiel knows what this means and automatically goes into responsive mode, kissing Dean back with as much eagerness.

He knows this scene really well, knows how to play the part. Doesn't mean he hates it any less. Dean's hands flutter to Castiel's stomach and Castiel fights the urge to move away, to protect Emeline from Dean's poisonous touch. "So warm, baby." Dean marvels and then he's leaning up to kiss Castiel again.

They strip, Castiel doing it slowly so Dean can get a good look at him. He doesn't really look at the other man because Dean is all rippling muscle and toned chest while he's just full and round, soft in places he wishes he wasn't.

When Dean is on top of him, Castiel purrs and keens, whimpers and mewls. He hateshateshates it but he knows that if he doesn't respond, Dean will make him, and there is nothing worse than that.

Strong arms guide his hips up, he closes his eyes and hears Dean fumbling with the bottle of lube, feels a blunt finger prodding at his entrance and he battles the tears that try to rise to the surface. It doesn't hurt anymore, but it still feels intrusive. He doesn't want to do something so intimate with Dean, wishes they could just be platonic. But soon more fingers slide in to join the first one and his hips are rocking on their own accord.

He hates that after all this time; his body still reacts like that to the thought of sex. With everything Dean has put him through, he imagines that he should hate sex. But instead it's strangely satisfying, like a good outlet for all his pent up frustration.

Dean stretches to kiss him and Castiel allows it before the hunter is pulling away and whispering dirty words in his ear, little commands telling him how to react. Castiel obliges, saying things that sound wrong to his own ears, there are pleas thrown in too, like he's begging for Dean to carry on, to hurry up and continue his rape torture fest.

Castiel is disgusted by Dean as a partner, a lover, a human being but nothing compares to the disgust he feels for himself. As Dean slides into him, he grasps at some awareness, some semblance that it is all wrong, before Dean angles his hips just right and he's lost in a haze of pleasure.


	3. When It All Went Wrong

They make love—as Dean calls it—until both of them are too exhausted to keep going. Dean pretty much passes out after, but Castiel stays up, feeling tired but unwilling to fall asleep because he's sticky with sweat and the residue of their copulation.

He pads over to the bathroom to get some wet towels to clean them both off. The pleasure is almost completely gone now and he's finally coming down from the high but as the self-awareness fills him,so does the raging hatred. It makes him dizzy with the force of it and he has to pause what he's doing to deal with the range of emotions that are competing for his attention.

Eventually, he settles on deep sadness. He doesn't cry; he's had enough of that. Instead, he takes several deep breaths. The compulsion is there, to take a knife and stab it through his heart just to quell his torment, have it be over. But he can't, Dean's commands still have their control and Emeline, all innocent and unaware, needs to live, to grow, to get out.

The despair always comes suddenly and takes twice as long to leave but pass it does, and after a moment Castiel resumes cleaning Dean up. As much as he may wish it were a blade he was dragging across his husband's skin, he does the job without further distraction or any complaint and then proceeds to do himself.

Emeline takes the opportunity to start kicking as Castiel's about to finish and he coos, strokes his bump with a soothing hand to reassure her, to let her know that every thing's going to be fine. He can only hope it's the truth.

* * *

The next morning, Dean leans in to kiss Castiel before he leaves for work. It's deep and filled with promise and the warning bells go off but Castiel just fakes a smile and returns the enthusiasm like usual while Dean is none the wiser.

When he is finally alone, the routine begins again. He feels the cage begin to close around his mind until all he can focus on are the commands. He starts on the chores, then the cooking and then everything else. He does it all mechanically, while a patient part of him waits for that break, that one moment to be himself.

Once it eventually comes, he's exhausted but grateful for the pause. With the little energy he has left, he climbs into the recliner and sits there, willing his brain to slow down and return to normal.

* * *

For as long as Castiel could remember, the curse had been bad. However, it had always been bearable before. It was there since he was born, separating him from his brothers and sisters by making him the black sheep. The curse was as much a part of him as his nose was a part of his face.

People never understood it, they told him to defy the orders and never knew that fighting only made him weaker and did nothing to lessen the pain. The curse was far more complicated than anyone could fathom. Trying to simply ignore or flout a command came with agonizing consequences. Frankly, it scared him. Yet people still told him it was a mind over matter situation, that the self-deprecation and self-pity were weighing him down and making the curse seem stronger than it was.

Eventually he came to the conclusion, at a young age, that he had the curse because he wasn't perfect. It was a strange idea but it seemed to make the most sense. He was clumsy and silly and never really special so God, or whoever, 'blessed' him with the ability to make those around him pleased with his behavior.

He never once thought of rebelling.

But apparently, his efforts to be good never impressed his family. They wanted him gone as soon as he was of consenting age. He didn't understand, they seemed to love him, but who could love someone who never spoke or laughed, who was sad all the time? Whose only good trait was his obedience?

As the curse worsened so did Castiel. He became more stoic each passing day. It didn't make sense to him to act like a 'normal' person when the odds of finding a cure seemed less and less likely. So he didn't. When it was about the time his parents started noticing, it was already too late. Castiel had given up and resigned to live out the rest of his days as a machine.

Then, Dean crawled out of some level of hell, and they found each other. Dean didn't belong, he was too bulky, too hard but that just attracted Castiel more. They were similar, the misfits. For once, Castiel thought he could taste salvation.

Dean had made him feel so many things, so many good things. He thought he found someone who could love him despite his many imperfections, someone who could make it feel like he wasn't cursed and not exactly blessed but almost deserving, of freedom, of love, of something better than the eternal torment he had to live with, because Dean, though an amazing man, wasn't perfect either.

Dean's brother, Sam, became his best friend and his second favorite person in the world, (second to Dean of course). Sam was kind; he treated Castiel as if he was normal. And Castiel felt special, that he was lucky enough for these two wonderful people to like him.

He never really knew what brought Dean and Sam to his village but he didn't care. All that mattered was that they were there.

Castiel's family couldn't wait to see him and Dean get married and then see that Castiel was moved out. To Castiel, even if the both of them never found a cure, Dean would be with him and he'd never have to deal with it alone.

They moved far away from Castiel's village, which was fine with him because Castiel never liked it much anyway and he wouldn't really miss it or the few friends he did have. He didn't even mind it when Dean made most of the decisions because Dean was smart and loved him and knew what was right.

Dean chose whom Castiel hung out with for awhile before deeming them all too toxic. He decided what Castiel wore and what he ate, where he went and what he did. But Castiel never thought anything was wrong until the day Dean started giving orders.

It happened during their first fight. Castiel was frustrated with all the hell Dean was putting him through and was packing up to leave while Sam waited in the car.

"Please don't leave me Cas," Dean was saying as he paced the room back and forth while Castiel continued to ignore him.

"You're insane Dean. This is insane. I'm sorry but I need to go somewhere for awhile." Castiel continued stuffing the suitcase, feeling the tears build up. He needed to do this, to teach Dean that his behavior wasn't right, that it wasn't the way you were supposed to treat people.

"Please Cas," Dean repeated. "I'll change. Just don't leave."

But Castiel was almost finished packing and Sam was blowing the horn. He never should have allowed Dean to get away with so much. Why had he been so stupid? "I'm sorry."

There was a silence; a pause from the groveling before Dean spoke and his words were as cold as ice. "No, I'm sorry."

It was so sudden Castiel had no idea what was going to happen or how to even react. "I have no choice Cas. Put that suitcase down and tell Sam to screw off. You will not leave."

He felt the words pour out of his mouth before it could get to him. "You bastard!" And then he was dropping the suitcase and going to the window to yell at Sam. Doing exactly what he was told like a good, obedient boy.

Sam wasn't buying it though, he knew something was off, Sam who knew about the curse and knew never to abuse it, who felt sincerely awful for the rough childhood Castiel had, rushed out of the car in seconds.

"Castiel, what are you saying?" he asked, scrutinizing the crestfallen, tearful blue-eyed man.

"You heard him," Dean spoke, appearing suddenly behind Sam, looking as vicious as the lies he told Castiel. "You need to get the hell out of my house."

Everything seemed to go off kilter and nothing was making sense. Sam looked over to Castiel to see if this wasn't some sort of trick, but all the other man did was stare dejectedly back at him. "He's right Sam. You need to go."

Sam narrowed his eyes. What was wrong with Castiel? Something was definitely off. "I'm not going anywhere without you."

Fresh tears poured down Castiel's face and before Sam knew it, Dean had him pressed against the wall.

"You deaf or something, Sammy?" The hunter's voice was filled with so much acid that it shocked Sam. Dean had always been protective of Castiel but not like this. He didn't know what was wrong with his brother but he knew he didn't like it.

Sam was never one for making trouble especially not with his older brother but this was one of those times that he needed to assert himself. "I'm getting Castiel out of here."

Dean gritted his teeth and pressed Sam further into the wall. "Over my dead body."

"Stop!" Castiel begged and Sam could see him trying to pull Dean off of him by grabbing his shirt. "If it means that you won't kill each other then I'll stay. Just please stop."

"Castiel." Sam warned because damn it, Castiel wasn't staying even if both Dean and himself ended up in body bags, but it was clear that the other man had already made up his mind. It still didn't make sense. With the way Dean was treating Castiel lately and the way Castiel seemed to dislike it, why would he change his mind so quickly? Then Sam took one look at the both of them and the light bulbs in his head lit up. "Castiel, is he making you?"

The other man's eyes refused to meet his and Dean had the decency to look ashamed. It was all the confirmation he needed. "You sick shit!" Sam gritted out, straightening up to pounce on his older brother.

Dean put up a good fight but Sam was so fueled with adrenaline and anger that he nearly killed the other man, until he was able to register Castiel trying to intervene again.

"Sam, please, this is the man I love!" He begged, trying his best to pull the much larger brother, Sam, off of the smaller, Dean.

Sam finally complied, but only for Castiel. He would have put Dean in a more critical condition if it weren't for the black-haired man who he cared for so deeply. What Dean was doing was just plain wrong. His brother must have been sick in the head or the biggest coward he knew if he was using the curse to manipulate Castiel. How long had this been going on anyways?

"Castiel, I'm so sorry. H-how could this happen? " He reached out a hand for the blue-eyed man but Castiel moved away from him to rush to Dean's side.

Castiel, who looked so small in his and Dean's giant living room, was silent for a long moment. Checking Dean's pulse and crying softly. He didn't say anything to Sam. When the other man got a closer look, it was clear Castiel had started praying. Sam reached out a hand to Castiel again to bring him back to the situation at hand but Castiel shrugged him off. "I think it's best if you go." He whispered.

"Not without you." Sam reiterated.

Dean, who was wavering in and out of consciousness, said, "If I ever catch you back in this house again, I'll kill you with my bare hands."

Sam ignored him, already making up his mind that Dean wasn't worth it, that anyone who could do this to Castiel wasn't worth it. "But Cas," Sam was pleading now, attempting to get the black-haired man back to the side of rationality.

"Go." Was all Castiel said. And some part of Sam's brain registered the scene before him and what had just happened and realized that it was exactly what Castiel and he were trying to avoid. There was no use now. What would be the point of fighting when all it would lead to was more violence and even more suffering for Castiel? Making things worse for Cas had never been Sam's intention.

So Sam left, though, he promised to come back.

After that fateful day, Dean apologized profusely and promised never to do it again and Castiel, of course, believed him. Because Dean was great, a little pedantic, but still great and Castiel was willing to make this marriage work. Everything was going to be okay, like in the beginning.

But like most things that Dean said, they were laced with deception. Whenever Dean needed to keep Castiel in check he'd issue a command even worse than the one before. Apparently, Castiel needed to be kept in check regularly because the commands never let up; they just kept coming and coming and all the while Dean kept takingtakingtaking. Of course, he would apologize, but eventually they both realized it made no sense;_you keep messing up babe, I just have to fix you sometimes, you know? Help you to be better. I do this because I love you, that's all._

Then everything that could go wrong did. Castiel learned that he was pregnant; a condition that he thought had only occurred in women but apparently also in his male ancestors whom he had inherited the curse from. And as it so happened was a trait as easily inherited as the curse itself. So not for the first time in his miserable life, he wanted to die.

Sam tried to help again but together they would never get far enough away. Dean had become more of a head official in the little town they moved to and was also becoming more skillful in his commands.

And as Castiel started to swell and grow it became harder to run and easier to just give in. The love he felt for Dean had long ago curdled and dissipated but he was still Dean's,_to have and to hold, remember babe,_ and he knew that would never change.

* * *

Castiel doesn't realize he's fallen asleep until he feels an arm shaking him awake. When he looks around he realizes he's still in the recliner and Dean is looking at him as if he's the most beautiful thing in the world. He feels horrified and slightly annoyed, wishing he could sleep longer or better yet, never wake up at all.

It's clear in the way the hunter looks at him, with pure love and adoration in his eyes, that Castiel is his whole world. It's warped and so, so wrong but Castiel can't deny that the reverse is also true.

"Hey babe." Dean greets, kissing him on the forehead. "Come eat dinner with me."

Castiel gives him a small smile in return and waits for the cycle to start up again and after a beat, it does.


	4. Close (But Not Close Enough)

_I wanna cut me free, you wanna clip my wings_

_I'm made of flesh and bone, you wanna take control of me_

_You wanna dress me up, I wanna feel the sun_

_You wanna play pretend, I'm not about to bend, you'll see_

_This is not a game_

_You want the strings so you can_

_Pull at my soul and tear me down_

_You want it all, I'm not your marionette doll_

_So let me go_

_I'm taking back the day you tried to steal from me_

_I'm going to make my voice, you'll never get my choice to breathe._

* * *

Castiel hears it before he sees anything; the tapping on the glass of their bedroom window. It's not loud enough to disrupt him from the sleep he would have been having, had his thoughts not kept him up, but it's enough for him to take notice. He chances a glance at Dean, silently hoping that his husband isn't disturbed by the noise, and sighing with relief when he sees him sleeping soundly.

Carefully, he untangles himself from Dean to investigate. Only a faint warning goes off in his mind, this could be dangerous, but Castiel persists anyway, curiosity winning out over everything else.

What he sees first is enough to take his breath away. For a second he has to stop himself from hoping, has to ensure that this is not a dream or risk getting his already mangled heart broken again.

Still, no matter how dark it is outside, no matter how bleary-eyed he is from lack of sleep, he can see it clear as day; Sam's silver Honda Civic waiting right outside. Standing not too far from it is Sam, throwing pebbles at the window like some old, appreciated Shakespearean hero and Cas abandons all control over his emotions.

Tearfully, he waves a hand by the window for Sam to see him. When their eyes meet, Castiel feels incredible relief and happiness surging through him.

For awhile, he imagined Sam had forgotten about him. Even though Sam made promises after he gave Cas his amulet, the long stretches of time where he heard nothing from the other man had Castiel resigning himself to believe that Sam had given up or gotten distracted.

To Castiel, it just made sense. Dean was obstinate about never letting go of him and while Sam grew to resent his brother, there was no way around respecting his wishes. That is, if he didn't want another violent confrontation.

But there he is, smiling at Castiel and gesturing for him to come downstairs. Castiel is all too ready to oblige until he remembers Dean's orders.

Slumping, he bows his head in defeat and Sam takes all of five seconds before he is walking away, presumably forever this time. It makes Cas feel immediately stupid and worthless because he's losing Sam again and his heart lurches painfully in his chest. He begins to mentally berate himself as he watches the taller man's retreating form disappear from view until he hears the doorbell.

Cas stiffens and looks over to Dean, who merely turns over but doesn't wake. Then he is quietly leaving the room to answer the door to an angry but grateful Sam.

He doesn't wait for Cas to say anything before he is coming inside and pulling the shorter man into a fierce hug, mindful of Cas' bump. And Sam both feels and smells like everything Cas has been deprived of; love, hope, peace, of pinecones and fallen leaves. He basks in it, embracing the moment, so happy to have something like this again.

"I've come to take you back," Sam says quite determinedly, breaking the hug.

"I know and I want this just as much as you do," Cas smiles.

There is a pause as Sam studies Cas' face. Cas knows what he looks like, despite the hell Dean has put him through. The pregnancy has made Cas glow and his skin firmer and plumper. He looks great, but it's his eyes and the burn marks that have not yet faded on his arms that hint at the horrors he's had to suffer. Sam sees them and when he hugs Castiel again it's with a litany of whispered apologies.

Castiel wants to cry, but there's little time for that. "We must move fast," he urges, bringing Sam back to the situation at hand. If Sam really has come to rescue him then they have to hurry.

The taller of the two men nods his understanding. "Do I, um, need to command you?" Sam asks, unsure.

Cas nods. "Yes, in order to cancel out the commands Dean has given me."

At the mention of his brother's name, Sam's jaw tightens. There is still so much hatred, so much that Castiel can't even begin to fathom. There's a possibility that Sam probably hates Dean more than Cas does and that thought makes Castiel feel inexplicably guilty. They loved each other before, Cas could tell, but now he feels somewhat responsible for their animosity.

Still there isn't much he can do about it now. Sam smiles apologetically at him before murmuring the command that will free Castiel.

Sam waits by the staircase as a precaution in the case that Dean wakes up, while Cas gets one of the suitcases out of a nearby closet and just starts packing random things. They don't have a proper escape plan, but at this point, it doesn't matter. Sam is here and they are going to leave and everything is going to be all right, for once.

Castiel packs so quickly that he is finished in no time. He isn't sure if he packed anything significant, but he can't really bring himself to care - he just wants to hurry this up and get out.

Sam gestures for the raven-haired man to go outside while he lingers by the staircase, waiting. Cas obliges, though a sickening feeling hits his stomach, but he ignores it to do what he is asked.

The fresh air is such a shock that Cas stills immediately as it caresses his face. Despite the fact that it's early morning and a little dark out, he can see the beauty of the overgrowth and trees surrounding him. It's breathtaking and he could stand there all day, relieved and…free.

Someone touches his shoulder and he jumps, heart stopping in his chest until he looks up and sees that it's only Sam. He gestures towards the car, kindly not mentioning Cas' skittish behavior.

Castiel relaxes as Sam helps him into the passenger seat, positioning the seatbelt around his bump. Everything's going to be fine, he assures Emeline. She's surprisingly well behaved today. No kicking, but there's the sickening feeling he can't shake and that bothers him.

Why can't he just be happy? Or is it that happy is an emotion awarded to the young and innocent? To the deserving? And that he is absolutely none of those things?

Sam's boots crunch on the damp, brittle earth as he walks around the car to the driver's seat, bringing Cas back to the matter at hand. Castiel lets himself live in the moment, absorbing the sounds he hears around him and the sights. He hears cicadas in the distance, birds chirping and other unique sounds of nature and tries to believe that he isn't in a dream.

But then there are footsteps, ones that don't belong to Sam. He glances over to the taller man who has paused, his hand just ghosting the handle of the driver's door, apparently hearing the approaching footsteps as well.

From their position, it's hard to see who's nearing, however, they know it can only be one person: Dean.

Everything falls silent then and it's as if all time has stopped. Cas wants to speak, but he's afraid to. He doesn't know why.

A moment passes though it feels like an eternity. Then, Sam is opening the car door and getting in when the sound of a gun goes off. It's loud and startling and too close.

Cas hopes that it isn't what he thinks it is.

But in an all-too-slow motion, Sam's body stiffens, his shoulder lurches forward, a bullet emerging through the flesh of his shoulder. And then Sam goes down.

Castiel wants to scream, but nothing comes out. His eyes meet an irate Dean's from the driver's window and soon his husband is unbuckling him and dragging him out of the car.

Dean pulls him around and Cas' eyes settle on Sam's unmoving form. Tears come to his eyes. This is all his fault. Sam's hurt because of him. No, Sam could possibly be dead because of him.

"Please," Castiel begs Dean. "I need to see if he's all right."

"He'll be fine," Dean grunts. "It's you I'd be worried about."

He drags Castiel back into the cottage and immediately turns on him. "Stay here," he orders, anger heavy in the words.

Then he's going outside and Cas hears Dean curse. Dean has slammed the door, so Cas can only imagine what he's doing out there to Sam. No. He can't hurt him. It's Sam.

In a fit of his own anger, Cas throws himself against the door, beating it with his fists until they threaten to bleed. "Leave him alone! God damn you! Dean, just leave him alone!"

He sobs, he screams, he does everything, praying that someone out there will hear him, will save Sam from the monster that is Dean Winchester.

His efforts prove futile.

Dean returns to find Cas curled up on the floor, tears streaming down his face and knuckles bloody from their assault on the door.

Castiel looks up and their eyes meet. The green in Dean's is almost a sparkling emerald, the unconcealed fury evident in their depths.

"What did you do?" Cas asks, leaning up to get a better look at the man, no, the monster before him. Dean's clothes are soiled with blood and he's sweating profusely. He looks scarily like a murderer from a horror movie.

"He'll be fine. Winchesters have gotten out of tougher scrapes than this. Had to hide the body though, couldn't afford for anyone to see anything." Dean's voice is hard. He leans down to force Castiel's bowed head up so he can get a better look at the blue-eyed man. "I know why he was here Cas. To take you away from me. I'll have the police informed of this and as for you…" he points an accusing finger at Castiel. "You were going to go with him."

Castiel can't deny it. He was. He was going to be with Sam and have his freedom. He feels no qualms about telling Dean the truth. "Yes, I was."

"Then this is your fault. You're to blame," Dean decides, then with conviction: "I'm sorry, Castiel, but you need to be punished."

No, don't, don't do this, Castiel's mind screams with words it wishes his mouth would say. He remains silent.

"Sam's a bad man," Dean continues, heading to the kitchen sink to clean off what blood he can. Castiel can only watch. He wants to tune Dean out and it's almost easy to; his mind won't shut up. Your fault, your fault, your fault replays in his head like a broken record.

"He will do anything to take you away from me, babe. It's sick. But what's disappointing is that you were going to go along with it," Dean says, low and calm and cold as ice. His voice steadily rises from its soft reprimand to carefully controlled rage. "After all the things I've done for you, the nice house, the food on the table, the love and affection, this is how you repay me?

"I just don't know, Cas. I tried to help you, tried to make you better, but instead you disobey me. And as for my brother? He can't do anything for you. I love you, babe, don't you see? I just need to fix you, to help you."

Dean saunters over to Cas, who hasn't risen from the floor yet, instead wishing it would just swallow him up and take them both to Hell.

He reaches out a hand to caress Cas' cheek, but the ebony-haired man recoils. "Castiel," Dean speaks and in his tone is a clear warning. Cas can't bring himself to care. He doesn't want this. He wants to be with Sam, make sure he's all right. And even if he isn't, though that could be a strong possibility, he wants, no, needs to hold Sam and bear with him through the pain.

This is all his fault. Sam is in a ditch somewhere, bleeding to death because of him. If he hadn't been so inadequate, if he had only realized sooner that he was bad for Sam then the poor man would be better off.

Never mind that he chose to come back for Castiel. It made no sense. Cas wasn't worth it. He was a liability and a constant threat to Sam's life. After all, it would only take a simple order for Cas to betray him or even go as far as murder him in his sleep.

Cas was a liability and Dean was a monster. They were a perfect match made in heaven or, more precisely, a match made in the darkest corners of Hell.

"Castiel," Dean says again, anger returning to his voice. Castiel gazes up and he knows he looks wrecked, completely and utterly wrecked.

"Cas," Dean says, voice softening just a little. "I'm going to take you to the guest room now."

The 'guest room' is Dean's equivalent of solitary confinement. It never actually gets used by their guests. Rarely do they have people over, much less spending the night. So they use it when Castiel does something truly horrid that Dean just can't forgive.

In the early months of their marriage, when Castiel had tried to kill himself, Dean had banished him to this room for some conditioning. Back then, Cas had Benny for company and though it was so awful his jaw clenches whenever he recalls the memory, he was able to survive it.

He's not sure if he can a second time.

But he accepts his punishment, thinking he deserves nothing less. Cas allows Dean to lift him up off the floor and lead him upstairs to the room that he no doubt will be staying in for a long while.

The room is decent. There's a two-poster bed, a desk, a lamp, a clock, as well as a few pictures of Dean and Castiel on their wedding day. It's innocent enough, but it doesn't make Castiel hate it any less.

"Now," Dean rumbles from somewhere behind him. "You know the rules from last time. I don't want to have to repeat them. The door will remain locked. If you need to use the bathroom, just call me and I will escort you there. In here, you will have time to think about what you've done."

For a moment, Dean sounds apologetic. Castiel wants to laugh.

"You're also pretty far along in your pregnancy. For these remaining weeks, I will be home to take care of any needs you may have. I still love you. Cas, you're carrying my child. You just need to be taught a lesson sometimes." Dean moves in closer, taking up all of Castiel's personal space. Castiel can't help it. He flinches.

Dean curls a finger under Cas' chin and tilts his head up for a kiss. It's chaste, but Castiel recoils all the same. "You're a monster," he blurts out.

"Now babe," Dean starts. Castiel can see the change, the subtle transformation from sad and remorseful to fully angry. It scares him, but still he does not cringe. "Don't say things like that. Tell me you love me."

It doesn't take long before he feels it; the tightening in his lungs and the oxygen slowly being cut off. This isn't new, it's just one of the physical sensations he experiences when Dean gives him an order.

"I love you," he whispers, and he feels so weak and ashamed, he's shaking.

Dean smiles, anger having instantly dissipated. "That's better. Now get some sleep. And don't worry about Sam." He smirks and his eyes flash evilly. For a second, Cas is very scared. Silently, he begs Dean to stop, to say no more before he says something he will regret. "Forget about him. He is no longer your concern."

Cas throws his hands to his head to quell the fire. Forget Sam, forget Sam, forget Sam his brain screeches, but he tries to fight it. He can't forget Sam. Sam is all he has next to Emeline. But he feels it, the neurons firing, the synapses flaring, the blocks and walls rising and memories erasing. And then all is silent. The pain is gone and it's just him and Dean.

You can't fix yourself by breaking someone else… The words float through his mind. He can't place who said it or where it came from and it evaporates almost as soon as it emerges.

As the pain dulls to an almost nonexistent throb, Cas can focus on the present again. Dean is still smirking when he looks up. "Do you remember Sam?" he asks, coming ever closer to Castiel.

Castiel frowns. Should he? The name isn't even familiar. He shakes his head and Dean's smile grows wider.

"I love you, Castiel."

"I love you too, Dean." Because Dean will force him if he says anything otherwise.

The door closes as Dean departs, subtle click of the lock outside signifying the bolt is in place.

Panic sets in; he is alone in the guest room. He must have done something wrong though he can't remember what. Dean must have seen the burns on his arms or something similar to that.

He is alone in a room he can't stand with thoughts that want to poison him. The door and windows are bolted and there is no way out. Castiel goes over to the desk, takes a seat and stares at the sunlight peeking through the curtains. What is he to do?

He cradles his head in his hands and feels utter despair until his elbow hits something on the desk. It's a pen and right under it are leaves of paper.

Castiel thinks of the possibilities. He heard writing was very therapeutic and the little times he did write in the past had been very satisfying. But what would he write? Whom would he write to? It wasn't like Dean would deliver his letters. His family seemed like a viable option to write to, letters he knows he would never have the courage to deliver even if that became a possibility. But he doesn't think he can write anything to them that isn't hate mail.

Then he feels movement in his stomach. It's just Emeline, restless, but still oblivious to the world around her. A thought comes to his head. He'd heard of women making baby books for their children to read when they were of age. The idea had always seemed a little insipid to him and before, when the thought of Emeline only sent him into an overwhelming panic, he would have scoffed at the idea of writing to her. Now, it doesn't seem so bad.

Something nice to write to the one he loves.

He has no choice, either do it or suffer from boredom and self-defeat. So there in the early hours of the morning with the first traces of sunlight seeping through the curtains, Castiel writes.

* * *

_**A/N: **_**Hope you guys enjoy the story so far! Thanks for reading!**


	5. Letters Of An Imperfect Angel

_**A/N: **_**I just want to thank my betas dljensengirl88 and LovelyFangirls for the help and the edits. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

The Letters of a Warped Angel

Dear Emeline,

I guess I just want to start out by introducing myself. My name is Castiel. I'm your papa. It's crazy; I never thought I'd be doing this so please forgive me if these letters aren't perfect. Of all the things that are happening to you right now, things you're probably experiencing as you prepare for the challenge we call life, I just want you to know that I love you, so, so much and I haven't even met you yet.

Really, the thought of you makes me so happy. I can't wait to finally hold you in my arms where you can be safe.

I have so much to show you too, so many things for you to experience. And I'll be the best papa you could ever have. I'll love and protect you and you'll never need anything. I'll even sing you this song my mother used to sing to me when I was just a child. Sometimes I sing it to you when you're being restless. It's called _You Are My Sunshine _and it's one of my favorite songs. I like to sing it when I'm sad. It makes me feel better. I think about you too when I'm down and the thought of you, so precious, makes me happy again.

I also like talking to you. I'm not sure if you can hear me, but I don't mind doing it. It's comforting to have someone with me.

I figured I'd write you letters so that you can always have a part of me with you, no matter what happens.

I wish I could give you more than just a few pieces of paper with writing on them, but I'm afraid there isn't much I _can_ give you. All I can promise you, my dear, sweet Emeline, is that you won't ever have to worry, for I love you even more than I love myself.

Now, you're probably wondering what the world is like. It's a beautiful place, Emeline, but it's also scary. Believe me, I know. I want to protect you from all of it, but I can't. I have to admit that. No matter how much I want to shield you from some of the horrors you will have to face, I can't shield you from everything.

I'm getting a little sleepy now; you take out a lot of my energy. Though I love every minute of waking up in a world where you're a part of me, I have to get some rest. Hopefully when I fall asleep tonight I'll have peaceful dreams.

Yours and yours only,

Papa

Dear Emeline,

I feel as if you're the only one I have to talk to. You're the only one who listens to me. I like talking to you. I like talking to the deer that come by the kitchen window too. I know they're merely animals and that they don't talk back, but it is the only way I feel anything positive, especially since…never mind.

I keep thinking of all the things we will do together once you're born. When I was younger, there was a tree that all the kids used to climb and play on. Not me, I used to hide up in that tree as a way to escape the world. Where we live, we're surrounded by a huge forest. I love the trees. They bring me peace. I hope you learn to love them too as you grow older.

I miss trees. I miss outside. I can't do this. I don't want to keep lying to you because you deserve much better than that. This world is full of liars and I'm supposed to be protecting you from them, not becoming one.

I love you, Emeline, and I hope you forgive me of my faults. The truth is I'm frightened. I feel as if as the days add up, so do my mistakes. Every day is yet another reminder that I'm imperfect. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be free.

I want to protect you, but I'm afraid I can't even protect myself. I'm alone and I'm scared. Really scared.

I have to keep this letter short; someone is knocking on the door right now.

Love,

Your Papa

* * *

"Cas!" Dean's voice booms through the door of the guest room. "I'm coming in."

Castiel hurries to hide the letters on the top shelf of a nearby closet, the same place he had found a strange but beautiful amulet that he decided would remain hidden with the letters, until he was ready to get them.

Dean yells again and Castiel stiffens, but moves to stand by the door, prepared to face Dean and accept whatever further punishment awaits him. But what could be worse than this? What else could Dean possibly dish out that could be worse than spending his days in the God-forsaken guest room?

He waits for his answer.

The lock clicks and soon Dean is stumbling in the room, reeking of whiskey. His eyes are a tad bit unfocused but when they settle on Cas, they shine with renewed clarity.

"Castiel, you're free to go," The words are slurred but the cobalt-eyed man can just make them out. They bring Castiel little relief because the oily smirk that rises on Dean's face afterward makes his heart sink to his stomach.

"On one condition," Dean stumbles closer to Castiel and the ebony-haired man steps back. Seeing Dean drunk is a novelty in itself. In the very short years of their union, Castiel has never seen Dean drink himself to that point. He always had control over it; he never let anything get to his head. _I have to remain focused, babe, it's part of the job…_

Yet here he stands, drunk as ever and Castiel doesn't like it.

Dean is still talking but his words are said sluggishly. "You've been really good these couple of days. I'm proud of you and I realized that you don't deserve this. So I'm letting you go, on the condition that you never ever give me reason to be scared like that again."

Castiel nods. The irony isn't lost to him though. After all, Dean has nothing to be afraid of. He's not in Cas' position and he may never understand what it's like to live in fear, but Castiel keeps _that_ to himself.

Dean continues to step closer until he reaches Castiel and wraps him up in his arms. Dean is deceptively warm and it reminds Castiel of something, like he's been held like this before by someone else and it was a comforting experience.

With Dean, Castiel's heart beats wildly in his chest and he lets himself hope. He will be allowed out of the guest room and things will return to normal.

He hugs back tentatively, wanting to get it over with so he can just leave the damned room already.

But then Dean draws back and tilts Castiel's head up so he can take a good look at his eyes. Dean's gaze is hooded, and Castiel prays it's just the alcohol, until Dean kisses him and it confirms what he's been dreading even more than the commands.

Castiel breaks away from the whiskey-laden kiss. "No, Dean," he warns.

Dean's eyes narrow into slits. "You haven't thanked me for letting you out." And then, in a more pleading tone. "Come on, babe, we can do it right here. At least, it's not the nursery."

Castiel ignores him. "I said no, Dean. You're drunk and I'm tired. Let's just get some sleep." He moves to walk away, but he gets as far as the door when Dean says it.

"Come here, Cas." The raven-haired man whips his head back around to glare at Dean, and tries to condense all his hatred, all the spite into one look. Dean glances away, but if it's out of shame or guilt, Castiel doesn't know.

Castiel, ever the obedient one, does as he's told with an energy that seems to come from out of nowhere. He has had little contact with Dean these past few days, even taking his meal and walking to the bathroom without saying a word to his husband, and so the curse has had no opportunity to flourish. Castiel supposes that maybe the mercy he had been spared these past few days was just temporary reprieve. Too bad it was short-lived.

He gets over to Dean who plants his hands on either side of Cas' face. "You shouldn't be so ungrateful," Dean admonishes without steam then presses his lips gently to Castiel's, before they move to Cas' neck and then continue their journey to his shoulders while his hands are busy under Cas' shirt, feeling his bump.

Dean looks up at Castiel with wonder and appreciation at the life they both created, before his expression morphs into one of sheer possessiveness.

The shirt goes first and then so do Cas' slacks – thanks to baby Emeline, he could no longer fit in his jeans— until Cas is standing before Dean in nothing but his underwear. He isn't hard. He doesn't _want_ to do this. As a last ditch effort, he tries again to tell Dean no. It's no surprise when Dean orders him again. "We're going to have sex and you're going to enjoy it."

And soon Cas is as hard and wanting as Dean is. Every nerve ending is on fire and all he can think about is _want, need, yes._

When Dean reveals himself to Cas, the dark-haired man feels his mouth water and his body react. For once, his mind isn't reprimanding him or giving him warnings. It's just a litany of _want, need, yes _until he's dizzy with it.

Cas takes Dean in hand and strokes him until Dean is with him, right there on that high of wanting and passion and then Dean is just as eager as he is.

Dean pushes Cas backward until Cas can feel the mattress of the guest bed touching his shins.

Laying Cas down on his back, Dean arches the smaller man's hips up and positions him before preparing Cas for the intrusion. Castiel can't stay quiet as Dean's index finger slides in. He moans and groans, writhing on the bed as if it physically hurts him to have to wait. Soon Dean is adding a second and third lubed finger and Castiel can hear angels singing. He begs Dean to hurry up, _more_ and _please_ falling from his lips as he tries to urge Dean on.

When the blunt head of Dean's member finally breaches him, the fire seems to tame, but he isn't completely satisfied. He needs more and Dean is moving too slow.

"Come on," Castiel persuades. "Harder, faster, need you, Baby."

"Shh," Dean coos. "I'll give it to you." And he does as promised. He keeps pushing until he's buried to the hilt, and the pleasure they both feel is so intense that they both see stars dance behind their eyelids. When everything has calmed, Dean sets the pace to an almost punishing speed.

He orders Castiel to be louder, to tell him what he needs to hear. Castiel does so happily. He continues begging and crying out and giving Dean praise. Dean calls him beautiful, tells him he's perfect and on any given day Castiel would protest and deny him viciously, but he's so high on carnality that he just returns the compliment with more praise.

Castiel wants to come but he can't because Dean hasn't told him to. His body is under Dean's control now; at its most vulnerable point where it's more responsive to any little thing that Dean says or does. His release is building inside him and he feels like he could burst if Dean continues. Then it's just overwhelming relief when Dean strokes him and says, "You can come Cas, it's okay."

Then the floodgates open and Cas is practically sobbing; it feels so good. Dean isn't that far behind. He lasts a few more thrusts before Castiel is feeling the scalding liquid spill inside him.

_Want, need, yes, _slowly fades into the background of his mind where clarity is gradually returning. _Look what you've done,_ is the last thing barraging his thoughts before sleep beckons to him, but he doesn't surrender, not yet. Castiel's soul is troubled, his slumber is often restless because of this. At least, that's what his mother once told him when he was having a bad night. Dean is already dead asleep, and as the same drowsiness chases Cas, he gets a glimpse of a plaid shirt, but the memory is transient. He falls asleep that night, sated, but confused and feeling even more worthless than before.

* * *

_**A/N: **_**Thank you for reading!**


	6. The Song of the Caged Bird

The Song of the Caged Bird

_But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams__  
__his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream__  
__his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing_.

Maya Angelou "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings"

_The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist_.

* * *

_**A/N: **_**Thanks everyone for the follows and the favorites! Special thanks to my betas Dljensengirl88 and LovelyFangirls for the edits and the help! **

**I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and the story on a whole! :)**

* * *

For the first time in months, Cas doesn't awaken until late afternoon. Normally with Emeline moving around, the cramps and Dean's very proximity, he'd stay up at abominable hours, wake early and avoid sleep as much as humanly possible.

But, if he were honest with himself, he'd admit that he loved sleep; it was the only thing that kept him away from reality. Sleep was a magnificent thing, he could appreciate that, and he was sure, if given the chance, he'd appreciate death even more.

Like everything, however, slumber had its downsides; notoriously, the nightmares. Cas did not scream, but he'd tremble, and he'd sweat and he'd beg. He'd do everything and yet nothing was ever enough.

They were rare things, the nightmares, but when they came like a storm in a seemingly calm night, all quiet and unexpected, those were the worst times for Castiel.

The ones involving Dean were horrible, sure, but nothing compared to the ones involving Emeline. Many times he'd seen her stillborn, himself miscarrying, her violent birth or, once she was born, himself harming her, throwing her away or robbing her of life. Those were most frightening. Often he'd wake up feeling undeserving of her, of this chance. Other times he'd torture himself with thoughts of how wrong it was to keep her; how he should have held onto that one idle thought of aborting her when he first heard he was pregnant. Because this life was not worth it. Oh, how he knew that, and though he was destined for a fate of cursed obedience with Dean, how cruel would it be for him to thrust a child into that same fate as well? It was something he debated many times.

Some part of him knew that he could fight for Emeline's freedom, but at the same time, he knew that such a struggle would not be easy.

It was better, he reasoned, not to think about such things and to just let life take its course. As each day passed, he knew the decision regarding Emeline wouldn't be simple, but every day he felt her _alive_ within him, he couldn't ever imagine not carrying her to term.

Mercifully, those lurid dreams never bled into each other; there were no dreams of Dean meeting Emeline, nor of Emeline meeting Dean. Castiel figured that it could correlate with the reality that his conscious mind didn't want to imagine Dean ever getting a glimpse of Emeline and so his brain was seeing to it that that wish was fulfilled, at least in his dreams.

Either way, Cas was glad for that. It was hard enough alone having Dean contaminate _his _purity; it would be even worse if he let him do that to Emeline.

He wished that last night's slumber would have been peaceful, but it wasn't. Although he slept through the night, he was still plagued with horrid dreams that refused to leave him alone.

He lies in bed now, aching in places he's hesitant to think about. He couldn't remember what he dreamt about, but there's an urge there, a remnant from the nightmare, a sensation that lingers. Something like the pull of a command, only slightly weaker, but nonetheless powerful. Because this wasn't just any feeling, it's a desire.

He wanted to cut. He wanted to drown out the pain with more pain, because pain is all he had. It's all he had ever known and all he ever would know.

He looked around to see if his husband was anywhere. Cas didn't doubt Dean was probably seeing to the consequential hangover resulting from his previous inebriation. He listened and prayed that Dean wasn't occupying the bathroom and was probably in the kitchen or something like that.

He knew he couldn't cut; Dean's commands saw to that. But he could turn the temperature too high on the water in the shower and that could be enough until he got to the kitchen and burned himself in there.

Slowly, he got himself up off the bed, which wasn't easy to do since he'd gotten so big, and waddled to the bathroom down the hall.

When he got to the bathroom, he surprised himself; once the water was turned on and he finally cleaned himself of Dean's scent, Dean's spill, the evidence of the horrible rape he was subjected to, he cried. He cried for the burns, wished they were cuts, cried for Emeline, cried out to the God who refused to answer his prayers. He cursed every hopeful thought he ever had of it ever getting better. He cried because he is tired of being weak, of being used, of being Dean's plaything.

Then he hurled what little food he managed to consume the day before, into the toilet.

When it was over and he had put on fresh clothes and deemed himself decent enough to face the husband he despised, he decided to suck it up and head downstairs.

Dean was at the kitchen table, but he wasn't alone. Bobby was sitting with him. Bobby saw Cas first and gave him a big smile. Tentatively, he smiled back.

Cas doesn't know much about Bobby. Like Benny, Bobby just appeared one day without introduction or explanation. He understands that Bobby was a part of Dean's past, and Dean doesn't like to talk about his past much with Cas.

That doesn't stop Cas from loving Bobby though. Bobby is sweet and cares for Castiel's well-being. For some reason, Bobby doesn't find Cas or his curse strange. He takes everything with a nod of his head and a crack of his knuckles. Cas figures that this is the reason Dean has given Bobby the responsibility of midwife as he seems more equipped in handling what is sure to be one of the most complicated pregnancies of all time, than any other human being on Earth.

Bobby rarely asks questions first, he gets to the meat of the situation and then asks questions later. Cas guesses that this is why he and Dean have managed to be as close as they are now. Cas sometimes wonders how Bobby, as he is so obviously human, deals with all the weirdness that Cas and Dean can offer him without even a bat of his lashes. It makes Cas wonder just what kind of things they deal with on a daily basis that Cas doesn't know about. Of course, he doesn't ask; better to keep quiet than to get Dean angry.

Bobby had been the one to tell them the gender of the baby by one of the numerous tests he ran when Cas was a few months along. Cas trusted the older man with Emeline's health and hopeful success of her birth. So far, Bobby did not disappoint.

"Bobby, I didn't know you were here." Cas forces another smile to break across his face. He pointedly tries to ignore Dean's bowed form sitting at the kitchen table.

The older man shrugs. "Dean asked me to stop by. Says it's about time I came to check on you since you're due sometime within the next three weeks."

At the mention of his name, Dean raises his head from his crossed arms and looks over at Cas. "Hey, babe. Did you sleep well?" He asks, sounding way too chipper for someone who looks like they've been run over by a freight train.

"I slept fine, Dean." Castiel swallows down the searing abhorrence that rises within him at the sight of his husband. He knows, logically, that hating Dean isn't going to help anything, but he can't help the small part of him that isn't willing to accept that this is his life. A small, hopeful part of him that is still fighting; fighting against this crappy life he is condemned to have.

Despite the protests of his entire being, he gently places a kiss to Dean's cheek, fully aware that Dean prefers it when Cas shows affection in front of company.

"How did you sleep?" he questions, for it is the polite response.

"Not well. I drank too much last night."

Bobby chuckles. "You idjit!"

Dean glares at him. "Right, well I have to go into town for a meeting. I'll leave you two alone to practice breathing exercises or whatever it is you two do. Do you need anything, love?" He rises from his seat and turns to Castiel who is distracted from the sudden overwhelming envy he feels toward Dean for his liberty of going outside whenever he wants to.

"Cas?" Dean calls, because Castiel still hasn't heard him.

"Why don't you take him with you? I can wait here. I'm sure Castiel isn't eager to be poked and prodded just yet. Besides, some fresh air'd do him and the baby some good," Bobby suggests, laughter having subsided and temperance returning.

All life seems to return to Cas and he looks at Dean hopefully. But Dean isn't looking at him; he's glaring at Bobby as if the older man has said something deeply insulting. "He's good _here_," Dean seethes.

"I'm just saying—" Bobby tries to amend, but Dean cuts him off.

"You telling me I don't know what's best for my own husband and unborn child?" Dean is getting into the other man's space. Bobby seems surprised more than anything else and gapes at Dean like a fish.

"Dean!" Cas cries, mortified by his husband's behavior.

As he regains some awareness, Dean switches from looking like he is about to maul Bobby to a man full of repentance and desperate to be forgiven.

"I'm sorry," he says, running a hand through his short, dirty blond hair.

Bobby simply nods, but he is looking at Dean with concern. "S'ok son."

Dean wastes no time in leaving after that. He does not take Cas with him.

* * *

Cas answers Bobby's questions as soon as they come. He tells him that Emeline moves around very little these days, but kicks a lot more than she used to. He tells Bobby that although he has to pee more often, he doesn't mind it as much though he wishes he could hold down more food.

Bobby reassures him that this is all normal. He tells Cas that Emeline isn't moving around as much because she's running out of space. He says she is getting big enough and that he shouldn't be on his feet too much. He makes a list of things that Cas should try to eat as his stomach should be able to hold it down, it's a list similar to the 'Yes' and 'No' food list he gave Cas in the early stages of his pregnancy.

Then Bobby performs a physical exam on Cas and the bedroom falls into a comfortable silence. Cas quite likes Bobby. He makes him feel better about things. He lets Cas talk and welcomes every question he asks, except for questions about Dean. Castiel is smart enough not to ask him questions about the mon- Dean. _Don't call me anything but Dean. I'm not a monster. I love you and_ _I hope you don't talk about me with him, babe. It would be a shame if you and he were discussing my business. I don't want to have to stop you from talking to him._

After the exam, Bobby's expression morphs into one of concern. Terror seeps into Castiel's bones and he clutches his stomach protectively.

"Oh, son. Nothing's wrong with Emeline, though I would drink more fluids if I were you since you are a little dehydrated." Bobby reassures with a small smile, but almost immediately, the concern returns to his face.

Castiel nods and silently thanks whoever is listening out there in the universe that Emeline is fine.

"Then why, may I ask, do you look so distressed?" Cas looks over at the older man and tries to read his body language for any clues.

The alarm marking Bobby's features gives way to bewilderment. The midwife sighs and gazes out the window across from them for longer than necessary. Castiel waits.

"It's Dean I'm worried about. I haven't seen him act like that in so long," Bobby admits.

Castiel remains silent; he knows they shouldn't talk about Dean. He wouldn't like it if he found out.

"Tell me, Cas. Does he have anger outbursts like that normally?" Bobby's soulful blue eyes search his for the answer. Castiel pretends as if he hasn't heard the question. Memories resurface of the times Dean has yelled at him, only to come home with flowers and gifts and apologetic words that do nothing to soften the blows, but instead make Cas even more afraid of the unpredictable stranger he shares his bed with.

"Castiel, you have to tell me. I want to know." Bobby's voice lowers in pitch.

It's not a command and Castiel is grateful for that. He allows himself to answer, the fondness he has for Bobby giving him a temporary lapse in judgment. "Yes, but not like today. Usually when h-he shouts, it's because of something I've done. A mistake I've made or something I screwed up." Bobby is silent, so Cas continues. "He doesn't do it often, but—"

"He shouldn't yell at you, period. I'm not too happy about him drinking either. For Pete's sake, you're giving him a child. You two are adults and this is a huge responsibility. What kind of example is he gonna set for his daughter?" Bobby's cheeks are a furious red. Cas feels suddenly ashamed. Bobby's right, they have to do better, for Emeline.

Then Bobby's face morphs into a look of sheer terror. He focuses his alarmed eyes on Cas. "Castiel, does he hit you?"

Cas shakes his head so violently he fears his head is going to fall off.

"Is he commanding you to say that?"

"No," he responds. "Why would you ask me that?"

Bobby slumps in his chair, looking immediately regretful. "No reason." Silence, then: "Castiel, I know this curse isn't easy to deal with. And I'm still searching for a cure for you, I just haven't found one yet. But, you have to tell me if anything is wrong, if you want me to help you."

A fleeting memory rises in his mind of someone promising that same thing. He allows it to take over his attention, but when he tries to focus on the memory, to pinpoint exactly who that someone is, it vanishes.

_No one can help me…_ he wants to say.

Bobby takes Cas' silence for that of apprehension. "Cas, you can tell me. It's alright."

Castiel feels the traitorous tears well up in his lost blue eyes. "I can't."

"You have a job to protect that baby. I know what happened to Sam. The poor kid's in the hospital because of what Dean did to him. And I couldn't help him. I couldn't help him. " Bobby's regret is written all over his face. He slumps down further in the chair. Castiel wants to reach out and touch him, comfort him. But he finds it hard to do, since he wants to cry himself.

It then occurs to Cas that he has no idea who Bobby is talking about. Who is Sam? Did Dean attack someone? Dean hurt someone and now they're in the hospital. He knew Dean was dangerous, but not to that extent.

He poses this question to Bobby. Then it's like flipping through channels on a T.V. Bobby's face changes from sorrowful to disbelief to nothing but rage. "What do you mean you don't know who Sam is? Cas, how do you not know who Dean's brother is?"

Castiel blinks, taken aback by Bobby's reaction. "I _don't_ know who he is. I didn't even know Dean had a brother."

"How could you forget?" Bobby's eyes are searching. He looks as if he's trying to figure out something impossible.

_Forget Sam, forget Sam, forget Sam…_ runs around and around Cas' mind. It stings and there's a blinding light, then he remembers Dean, insidiously calm, saying those exact same words.

"I think," Cas starts, finally putting the pieces of the puzzle together. "Dean ordered me to."

The room falls silent. Bobby swallows; once again, the disbelief on his face dissipates into absolute rage. He doesn't say anything for a long while.

Then: "I have to talk to Dean about this."

"Please," Cas cries out. He reaches a hand out to Bobby's cheek. He tries his best to make Bobby see the pleading, the desperation. "I need you to help me. Let me remember."

Bobby nods furiously. He says with an urgency of his own, "You need to get out of here. You have to protect that baby. If he—if he is _commanding_ you to forget things, imagine what else he can command you to do."

"No," Cas whispers. "I can't leave. You don't understand. He won't _let_ me."

"Sure, Cas. In fact, you can live with me. You'll be safe." The older man nods his head matter-of-factly.

"No." A memory arises; he and Dean are lying in bed after sex, some night long ago, before the pregnancy, before all the hatred. Dean is holding him tight, and Cas falsely tells himself that this is all he can ever hope for. Dean whispers something, and Cas can only make out the latter part of it as sleep beckons to him _…you can't ever leave me, Cas. I'll go crazy without you. I'll come after you, every time and if I find the son of a bitch that took you from me, I'll hurt him. Or I'll make you hurt him. You can't even guess how much I love you…_

"_You're _not safe," Cas tells Bobby. He pushes himself up into a sitting position and carefully avoids the other man's gaze. "He'll harm you or force me to do it. I have a hard time living with myself already, how do you think I'd feel if you got hurt?" Then a scary thought comes to his mind. "What if _I'm_ the reason his brother is in the hospital?"

Bobby is silent again.

"You have to get out of here. It's too late for me," Cas warns. He doesn't wish to ponder on just how true that statement is.

Bobby is staring into oblivion. It's evident that he hasn't heard what Cas has said, or that he is even aware that Cas is talking. "My God," he whispers. "He's becoming his father."

Cas doesn't understand. But Bobby says no more.

* * *

Cas leads Bobby to the front door. The man tries again to get Cas to come with him. He pleads, he even begs, but he does not command and Cas is appreciative of that. He knows Bobby wouldn't. He also knows that some of what Bobby said was right. He has to protect Emeline, and he will. Even if that means she never meets Cas himself. If she has to go somewhere far away, he'll let it happen. He'll do that for her, even if he can't come with her.

The Impala pulls up while Cas and Bobby are still having their dispute. Cas has the door open and Bobby is adamantly not leaving. Dean steps out and gives them both a three hundred watt smile and Cas struggles to speak, temporarily blinded by the beauty of the Devil himself.

"What's the problem here?" Dean asks, feeling the tension.

Cas speaks before Bobby can. "Bobby here, was just leaving. Everything is fine with the baby and he is needed somewhere else. Right?" He silently pleads that Bobby will just go along with it.

The older man must have read it in Cas' face and tone, because he drops his resolve and nods his head. "Yes, I was. I'll just advise you to drink more water and please read that list I gave you. It has all the food you should be able to eat on a rocky stomach. And with that, I'll get outta your hair." He chuckles, but it's an off sound.

"Thank you so much, Bobby." Cas smiles. He means it with every fiber of his being.

Bobby nods. "If you ever need anything, I'm just a phone call away."

"Right," Dean says. "Well I'm sure we'll be good for a few weeks. We'll call you, but I honestly think with all these books you left us and the lists and the medicine we should be just fine." He wraps an arm around Castiel and Cas thinks he's imagining it when Dean's hold tightens. His husband throws Bobby a reassuring smile that would probably dazzle a novice, but only serves to make Bobby act even more off.

"I'll just be going now," he says and then he, finally, leaves.

"What was that about?" Dean questions. His tone is patient and casual.

Cas shrugs. "I think he was having a bad day. How was yours?"

Dean, seemingly satisfied with that answer, grins at his husband. "It was good. Same old, same old. I'm sorry I couldn't be here for the exam."

"It's fine. It went well."

"Good." A pause, then: "Cas?"

"Hmm?"

"You know better than to lie to me, right?" He walks over to Castiel, who freezes in place.

"Dean," Castiel pleads.

"Because lying to your husband is wrong."

Cas swallows. Dean is staring at him like he can practically feel the guilt coming off Castiel in waves.

Dean steps closer, his eyes narrowing.

"Do you think it's fair? For me? For our baby? It wouldn't be good to lie to me. It wouldn't be smart, would it, Cas? Think of Emeline. Her future. Think of the dreams we have for her, for us, for _our _future. Lying could devastate all that."

Castiel bows his head in shame. Dean's right, he's absolutely right. If he really wanted the best for Emeline, why was he trying at every opportunity to ruin the marriage? To mess with Dean? To provoke him? Wasn't he smart enough to see the danger?

He wasn't the best husband, but he had to be a better father, and good fathers didn't do stupid things.

Dean steps even closer until he's tilting Cas' head up so they can be eye to eye. In Dean's green eyes, there's sympathy and something else, possibly victory, but Cas doesn't allow himself to ponder that.

Dean's voice softens. "I don't want that and I sure as Hell know you don't want that either. You don't want to tear this family apart, so no more lying. From now on we're going to be completely honest with each other. That means no more secret talks with Bobby."

Cas raises his head at that. Dean knows -probably has always known. The cobalt-eyed man blushes, feeling exposed, as if everything he ever told Bobby has been known to Dean this whole time. He almost expects punishment, but Dean seems too focused on something else.

As Cas weighs the implications of Dean's statement, he realizes that what he wants the most is to ask if that means that Dean will divulge information about his job, his life outside of the cottage, but as if sensing what Cas is thinking, Dean shakes his head.

"I'm sorry, Cas. I mean, I'll tell you what you need to know. Alright?"

"Yes, Dean."

"I love you, always will. And I know you love me." His eyes flare with sincerity. The way Dean says it, as if he's simply assuring that rain is wet and grass is green, makes Cas' stomach do flip flops.

Then Dean is hugging him. "I need you, Cas. Emeline needs you. You have no idea what it does to me when I know you're being dishonest. When I think about all that I've done for you, it makes me want to just shake some sense into that head of yours. Bobby means well, but nobody can be there for you like your husband. Am I right, Cas?" He whispers, breath ghosting the shell of Castiel's ear.

Cas manages to smile, though there is no mirth behind it.

_You're weak, you're so weak…_ his mind tells him.

Castiel cries into Dean's neck. Dean coos, and rubs his back. His husband probably assumes they are tears of happiness. Cas just lets them fall. He never likes crying in front of Dean, because his weakness would only be put on display. This time, however, he can't help it.

That night, as Dean sleeps, Cas takes a knife from the kitchen, _don't hurt yourself anymore…_ runs through his head and he just. Can't. Make. It. Stop.

He wants to cut so bad. His veins, so bold and blue like his eyes, call to him. _End the pain_, he tells himself. _Just end it._

But the curse makes him drop the knife and it clatters to the ground.

Emeline moves a little and it's as if he suddenly remembers what he chose to live for. His Emeline; his _everything_.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, rubbing his tummy. "I keep failing you."

He rises, ascends the stairs, and walks to the guest room across the hall, purposefully passing by the nursery that Dean insisted on decorating. He finds the pen and paper again in the desk drawer.

He closes his eyes, thinks of her and writes.

* * *

_**A/N: **_**Hope you all enjoyed. More to come soon!**


End file.
